Kevin Durant’s Mother’s Day Gift

“Kevin Durant’s Mother’s Day Gift,” by Ian Crouch. Accepting the N.B.A.’s Most Valuable Player award, Kevin Durant gave a speech to be remembered for years to come.

Last week, after the Oklahoma City Thunder fell behind the Memphis Grizzlies in their first-round series, and it appeared that the Thunder would make another early exit from the playoffs, the local paper ran a big photo of Kevin Durant under the headline, “MR. UNRELIABLE.” It was a rare moment of disquiet in a town that has offered mostly unconditional love for the team and for its star, which both arrived, from Seattle, before the 2008 season. The paper’s sports editor quickly apologized for being “unduly harsh.” But the headline was fed by a growing sentiment, taken up by fans and sportswriters around the country, that Durant lacked some essential killer instinct in the big games, that he might not be ready or able to lead his team to a championship, and that he was, therefore, a vitally flawed player.

On Tuesday, as he accepted the N.B.A.’s Most Valuable Player award, at the end of a season in which he led the league in scoring for the fourth time, Durant held a public celebration / press conference. It did not answer the question of whether or not he will ever win a championship but, instead, rendered that question largely inconsequential. In wide-ranging remarks, and often fighting through tears, Durant thanked his teammates, his coaches, his friends, and his family. Durant also addressed the fans, many of whom had showed up to celebrate outside of the Thunder’s old practice facility, where the event was taking place. “This city, all they want us to be is ourselves,” he said. “You love us how we are. We’re all a work in progress as men, and you still love us.”

The idea of championships as the ultimate expression of athletic success has gained a firm grip on the basketball psyche in recent years, bolstered by former greats, like Karl Malone and Charles Barkley, who continue to be held to account for their near-misses and their teams’ failures. It has been peddled especially hard by the kinds of sportswriters who often fret about players’ so-called legacies. The looming shadow of history seems omnipresent, as if moments no longer matter in real time but only in how they will change the rankings of the best and worst of all time. But this is a myopic kind of fandom, and it confuses what a spectator wants—which is to vicariously win something—with the myriad experiences that a player might hope to accumulate in his career. Durant offered another way: the Thunder are still alive in the playoffs, but, regardless of what happens, this was his championship moment. And it could be the fans’ moment, too—surely as meaningful and as thrilling as getting to see him riding on the back of a float holding a trophy.

Unlike the aggressive, competitive, and sometimes vicious player whom we watch on the court, Durant was open, vulnerable, emotionally brave, and sincere. He reminded everyone not only of his own humanity but also of that of his teammates. They joined him onstage, and he took the time to address each of them, often sharing deeply personal stories. Many were fighting tears, too. This was just an acceptance speech for a league award, not something like the State of the Union, and so the theatrics were a little over the top, but moving nevertheless—like a wedding speech that goes on for way too long but which you never want to end. He spoke at length about Russell Westbrook. He told him that he loved him, and it didn’t seem like mere jock hyperbole. Durant mentioned that the team’s equipment guy had given him a hug and said, “This is my first M.V.P.”

Yet Durant’s most memorable remarks, the kind of thrilling moment that indeed will be remembered in history, came when he spoke about his family. He told his brother, step-brother, and father that he loved them, and then he spoke to his mother, Wanda:

The odds were stacked against us. Single parent with two boys by the time you were twenty-one years old. Everybody told us we weren’t supposed to be here. We moved from apartment to apartment by ourselves. One of the best memories I had was when we moved into our first apartment. No bed, no furniture, and we just all sat in the living room room and just hugged each other. We thought we’d made it.

Durant told his mother, “We weren’t supposed to be here. You made us believe. You kept us off the street. You put clothes on our backs. Food on the table. When you didn’t eat, you made sure we ate. You went to sleep hungry. You sacrificed for us. You’re the real M.V.P.” The N.B.A. should broadcast Durant’s speech this Mother’s Day, and on every one after it. Even the most jaded SuperSonics fan would have to grant that the moment was not only a sports dream but also the American dream come to life. Talk about making it.